


Three Course Disaster

by emwebb17



Series: Tumblr Fics [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas tries to help out around the MoL Bunker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Course Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr.

Sam looked warily at the three dishes the former angel had spread out on the table.  In an effort to still be useful to the Winchesters, he was disastrously tackling one chore after another.  He’d been banned from the laundry room after using dish soap in the washing machine and flooded the room with waist high piles of suds.  He’d been politely asked not to clean the shower again after they caught him using the toilet brush to do it.  Sam had been leery about allowing him in the kitchen with fire, but Dean had assured him he was just unfamiliar with everyday objects, not an incompetent imbecile.  And true enough there had been no fire alarms, no severed fingers, just three odd looking dishes.

“What you got here, Cas?” Dean asked, picking up a blob of yellow and white precariously perched on a cracker.  It was spotted with a brown powder.

“It’s a themed meal.  These are ‘deviled’ eggs.”

“Ohhhh…” the brothers said together, finally recognizing the demolished egg for what it was.

Dean bravely took a bite while Sam sniffed his.

“What’s on top?” Sam asked.

“The recipe said to garnish to your liking, but it didn’t specify what was on top.  I picked a powder similar in color.”

Sam glanced at Dean who was putting down the uneaten half of his hors d’oeuvre and swallowing with an expression on his face crossed between a smile and a grimace.

“It’s cinnamon,” Dean said.

Sam repressed a laugh.  “What else did you make?”

Castiel seemed to notice Sam didn’t try his deviled egg, but didn’t comment.  He just pointed to the beige lopsided lump and said, “This is ‘angel’ food cake.”

Dean smirked.  “I am sensing a theme here.”  He broke off a piece of the cake and popped it into his mouth.  His face immediately screwed up.  “Think you might have used salt for sugar,” he gagged.  He spit his mouthful into a napkin.

Cas looked confused.  “I was very careful.  I read the labels.”

“Easy mistake,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.  “Everyone does it at least once.”

“What’s the last thing?” Sam asked quickly, seeing their friend’s shoulders begin to slump.

“It’s called a ‘popover.’  I don’t know why.  They didn’t pop like corn.”

Dean picked one up to take a bite as Sam looked on amusedly.  If being willing to stick a third thing of Cas’ creation into his mouth wasn’t love, Sam didn’t know what was.

“So, how does this fit the theme?” Sam asked as Dean bit down.

“It’s made with ‘ghost’ chilies.”

***

Castiel sat with his arms curled around his legs, chin tucked on his knees.  He was behind a large shelf full of dusty books in the reference room.  He miserably flicked at the loose spine on one of the books contemplating how once again in trying to do something good he’d hurt the person he cares about most.  A lot of his brothers had thought he’d been favored by God, always being brought back and given second, third, even fourth chances.  Castiel saw it as proof that their father delighted in watching him suffer.

Sam had assured him Dean was okay, but for a few tense minutes, things had been very bad.  Dean had turned red, sweat had broken out all over his body, and he’d wailed in agonizing pain as his tongue swelled.  He’d knocked over his chair and stumbled into a wall before Sam had grabbed him and dragged him to the refrigerator.  Dean had clutched at his chest for one horrifying moment, eyes going wide, and then choked on a breath.  Sam had pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge and forced his brother to hold mouthfuls of the liquid until at last Dean stopped squirming and sat whimpering on the floor.

As much as he hated Him sometimes, Cas had thanked God that Dean hadn’t swallowed the stupid thing.

“Hey, Castiel.”

Cas didn’t look up or acknowledge Sam.

“He’s doing fine, you know.  There won’t be any permanent damage or anything.”

Cas just scowled.

“He’s not mad at you.”

At this Castiel did look up and frowned at Sam.

“You don’t believe me?  Go talk to him.”

Cas dropped his head again, remaining sullenly silent.

“Hey, don’t you think you owe it to him to make him feel better?”

Cas allowed his eyes to move enough to see Sam again.

“There’s an old trick humans use to make injuries better.  Kids learn it from their moms.”  Sam smiled with rueful amusement.  “I learned it from Dean.  If you do it for him, he’ll feel better.”

Castiel looked up.

“I promise,” Sam said with a grin.

***

Dean lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his tongue and palate throbbing with dull pain.  At least the worst of it was over, but he knew it would be days if not weeks before his mouth felt normal again.  The Ibuprofen was helping a little, but he was still ticked when Sam refused to steal some Vicodin from a pharmacy when he went out to buy more milk.  He could have at least nicked some codeine.

There was a soft knock at his partially open door and Cas’ barely audible voice asked if he could come in.

“Yeah, cuh nn,” he said as best he could with his tender tongue.

Castiel peeked his head around the corner, looking concerned, apologetic, and a little afraid.

“‘Bout hime uu owed up, don uu hink?  Uu goin’ ta cohm nn ere an pologize or ot?”

Castiel hung his head in shame, but the admonishment did work to get him in the room.  He slunk closer to the bed and Dean sat up.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”  Castiel heaved in a distressed breath and said, “I’m sorry all I ever do is say ‘I’m sorry’ to you.”

Dean waved a hand.  “It’s hine.”  He gave Cas’ arm a couple of manly pats.

“Sam did convey to me a way to make you feel better.  He’s says it’s an ancient custom.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Eah?”

“Yes.  Show me your tongue.”

Dean frowned.  “Aht?”

“Dean,” Cas said sternly, clearly determined to do something to correct his mistake.

Well, if it was something Sam told him and not something he’d learned on the Internet, it probably couldn’t be too dangerous.  He rolled his eyes, but then gingerly stuck out his tongue.  Cas leaned forward and kissed it.  Dean started, and left his tongue sticking out as Cas drew back.

“Sam said that humans kiss injuries to make them feel better.”

Dean had a split second thought about killing Sam, but the rush of adrenaline and endorphins he’d gotten from the brief, bizarrely intimate contact had temporarily masked the pain.  And when it did come back, it didn’t seem quite as bad as before.

Cas’ brow was furrowed.  “Did it work?”

Dean repressed a smile.  “Yeah, ii ork’d.”

“Should I try it again?”

Dean felt a little heat in his face that had nothing to do with the ghost chili.

“Mayhe la’er.  Uu ould get ee sohm ore ilk.”

Finally, a small smile appeared on Cas’ lips.  “I can do that.”

“Hanks, Cas.”


End file.
